


Let It Be Me

by xadie



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, M/M, Pre-Fake Karakura Town arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xadie/pseuds/xadie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yumichika learns what role he and Ikkaku are to take in the battle of Fake Karakura Town, and fears the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Be Me

The Captain-Commander’s measured words sank into Yumichika’s mind like stones thrown into a turbulent stream. He felt as though he could hardly hear over the sound of his own heartbeat rushing in his ears, but somehow he knew that he’d remember each and every syllable until the day he died. 

Which would be tomorrow.

It was a suicide mission; Yumichika’s military training told him that. He burned to look at Ikkaku, felt Kira brush against his other side, knew that Hisagi would be sitting stock-still beyond him. He became acutely aware of everything, as though only now, in more than a century’s existence, now this was the first moment that was real, and it was slipping away through his fingers second by second. His mouth was dry. The tabletop in front of him was worn, the lacquer thinning in patches, smoothed by generations of use. 

Yumichika automatically rose when Ikkaku did, and barely noticed that Kira, against protocol, stayed seated even as the Captain-Commander swept from the room. They’d been given a choice, but there was really no choice to make. Yumichika glanced down at the blonde, bowed head, and wondered vaguely if Kira felt the same. Ikkaku was speaking to Hisagi, slapping his arm in that manly way that meant they were comrades and buddies. He half-expected Ikkaku to propose a drinking session, but he’d underestimated him. Ikkaku turned to leave, and Yumichika followed without so much as a word. He didn’t know what to say, anyway.

He trailed in Ikkaku’s wake all the way back to their room. He’d spent so many hours following that strong back, that bald head, that he knew every line and curve: the light scar at the base of the skull where a Hollow claw had slashed a ragged line, the slight irregularity in the arc of the right ear from a misguided, youthful piercing experiment, the carefully mended tear on the hakama, just below the left buttock, Yumichika’s own deft stitches pulling the fabric together almost invisibly. How he’d cursed at Ikkaku that night for coming in drunk, his uniform filthy and torn from some forgotten, unimportant escapade. 

Evening was already tingeing the sky with purple fingers, and there wasn’t enough time left.

As the door of their room closed behind him, Yumichika’s feet carried him forward, his arms wrapping around Ikkaku from behind, grabbing at the fabric covering his chest, twisting it in his hands. Ikkaku’s head fell back against his shoulder, and Yumichika kissed Ikkaku’s throat, a pain grabbing his chest at the vulnerability of the moment. 

‘Please let it be me,’ Yumichika thought as he used the bunched fabric of Ikkaku’s uniform to spin him into a proper embrace, a searing kiss that chipped further pieces from his already shattering heart. He wound his arms around Ikkaku’s neck and pulled him closer and closer, and Ikkaku was kissing him back so hard it was as though he was trying to absorb Yumichika into himself. Ikkaku’s hands grabbed at his shoulderblade, his waist, kneading handfuls of his ass urgently, almost lifting him as he ravaged Yumichika’s mouth. 

‘Please let it be me,’ Yumichika thought as Ikkaku half-dragged, half-pushed him to the futon, where they fell amid the silken cushions, delicate fabrics straining and crumpling under their desperate bodies. Yumichika could no longer fathom why he should have shouted at Ikkaku for being careless with them, as he had done so many times before. Nothing mattered but Ikkaku, and the way he was tearing at Yumichika’s clothing, licking and biting at each exposed patch of skin until Yumichika was naked and needy beneath him. Not bothering to remove much of his own uniform, Ikkaku slipped the ties on his hakama, spat on his hand, and, with the most cursory of preparations, was inside Yumichika in seconds.

‘Home,’ thought Yumichika, gasping, mixed up with ‘this will be the last time.’ Ikkaku stilled and stared down at him for a second, as though he’d never seen Yumichika before in his life, then gently reached to brush calloused fingers over Yumichika’s face. It wasn’t until Ikkaku’s skin touched his that Yumichika felt the wetness of the tears on his cheeks. 

‘Please let it be me,’ Yumichika thought, as he dashed an impatient hand across his eyes and set his jaw determinedly. He arched up from the futon, drawing Ikkaku deeper inside, eliciting a groan of pure need. He wrapped his legs around Ikkaku and pushed himself upright so he was straddling his knees. He sank his nails into Ikkaku’s shoulders and, giving him that hungry look he knew his partner loved, started to ride him mercilessly, fresh jolts of desire running up his spine with each rise and fall. 

Their mouths met in a messy, very un-beautiful kiss, but Yumichika didn’t care, the urgent rhythm nearly helping him to forget that tomorrow they would die. Or maybe only one of them would die, which would still mean both of them dying, really. He nipped at Ikkaku’s bottom lip, and didn’t think about Aizen, or the Espada, or how he and Ikkaku would be stationed at two of the most strategically, and therefore most heavily attacked, positions on the battlefield. He bucked his hips and didn’t think about the fact that they would keep coming, more and more powerful enemies, until the two of them had nothing left to give.

He only thought about Ikkaku, about the smooth, muscled arms encircling his body, about the way their sweat-slicked skin slid and slipped together, driving, always pushing onwards, up and up a mountain of sensation, of need, urging each other on, and as Yumichika lost control of his breathing, short huffs escaping his throat and a familiar shivering, out-of-body sensation taking hold of him, he thought again, ‘Please let it be me. Oh gods, please let it be me that dies first, I can’t, I won’t go on without him, Ikkaku, my love, my world, I’d die, I’d die to keep you safe, I’d die rather than know you were dead, if you were dead …’ 

Any more coherent thought was swallowed by the explosion of white light behind his eyelids, the rush of sensation that took over his whole body for what felt like hours, but could only have been seconds.

Later he lay sprawled on Ikkaku’s chest, listening to his heart beating. Ikkaku’s breathing was slow and measured, sleepy; it was a night like so many other nights after they’d made love, wrapped in soft sheets and Ikkaku’s warm arms. As recently as the night before, this had felt like the safest place in the whole universe. 

“Yumi,” Ikkaku said unexpectedly, the roughened skin of his fingers catching on the silken strands of Yumichika’s hair as he stroked it. Yumichika hummed in response, not wanting to destroy the moment. “You have to go on. When I’m gone …” the slightest crack betrayed the emotion under the words. “You have to.” Something like rebellion stirred within Yumichika’s belly, and he raised his head and tilted his chin to rest on Ikkaku’s chest. He stared up at his lover of so many decades, his gaze steady.

“Same to you,” he said, raising his eyebrows defiantly. Ikkaku looked away.

“That’s impossible,” he growled, unable to meet Yumichika’s eye.

“Well then,” said Yumichika, resting his ear once more against Ikkaku’s heart, “neither of us had better die.” He felt, rather than heard, the warm grumble of laughter in Ikkaku’s chest, and suddenly, somehow, started to think that everything might turn out all right.


End file.
